


Wake Up Exhausted

by hostilovi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Gen, M/M, Repaying Debt, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilovi/pseuds/hostilovi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t know how it’s come to this, but he’s never been much good at lying, even to himself. He wants, desperately, to pin the blame on someone else. But he knows the truth.</p><p>For starters, he never should have answered the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t know how it’s come to this, but he’s never been much good at lying, even to himself. He wants, desperately, to pin the blame on someone else. But he knows the truth.

_ You’ve fucked this up yourself. _

For starters, he never should have answered the door.

“Here’s the thing, kid,” the man says, tossing the tangerine from hand to hand.

Kuroko has never been more certain that he’s about to die.

“The thing is, I’ve been sent to get the money you owe.”

“I told you I can’t pay.”

He’s barely making rent and spends more on feeding Nigou than he does on himself.

The man’s eyes are strangely gentle, a soft brown that promises kindness.

The gun at his hip says otherwise.

“You know, didn’t anyone teach you not to take loans you can’t repay?”

Kuroko swallows back his anger, clenches his hands tightly together until his nails nearly break skin. He’s going to die, here in this apartment he hates, leaving his grandmother with nobody.

“It was for my grandma’s hospital bills.”

The man nods, understanding. Whether he understands or not is beside the point. Kuroko can’t take his eyes off the gun. He’s never seen one up close before.

“I love my grandma too,” the man says, smiling. It’s a natural expression that suits his face but Kuroko still feels sick. “Tell you what, kid, I’ll cut you a deal.”

If anything, that makes Kuroko feel worse.

“I’ll pay it for you.”

“What?”

“Whatever you owe. I’ll pay it.” He’s still smiling.

“But–why would you do that?”

The man shrugs. He starts peeling the tangerine, releasing the fresh scent into the air. “You’re a cute kid and I’d feel bad, taking you from your grandma. Family is important.”

Kuroko can feel bile creeping up his throat and swallows again. He’s waiting for the man to continue, to demand he pay with his body or some other way, but he just keeps peeling his fruit with maddening calmness.

“No offense, but what’s in it for you?” Kuroko ventures to ask as the man leans back against the counter and starts eating.

“I need a new housekeeper.” He gestures with his free hand at the fastidiously kept apartment. “You seem good enough.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Kuroko sits in silence, trying to figure out the trick. There had to be a catch, something terrible that he was missing.

He thinks to himself, _you’re an idiot if you take the deal._

He thinks to himself, _you’re an idiot if you don’t._

He thinks to himself, _you’re an idiot._

“You don’t even know me,” Kuroko says weakly. The man pauses in his chewing.

“You’re Kuroko Tetsuya, age 22, university dropout. You work at the bookstore around the corner. You’re an aspiring photographer. Oh, and you have a dog you’re hiding from your landlord.” The man returns to his tangerine. “I’d say that’s enough to be going on.”

“Who are you?”

“Kiyoshi Teppei.” He makes a small bow in his direction with a brighter smile. “The debt collector.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroko stares at the address in his phone, looks between the screen and the neat house in front of him. It looks perfectly normal, not at all like the house of a _debt collector_. As he stands there unmoving, the door opens and the familiar figure of Kiyoshi Teppei waves to him from inside, a bright and jovial grin on his face.

“Kuroko, you’re right on time! Do come in!”

One hand clenches on the strap of his bag, the other clenches around his phone until the plastic case creaks under the strain. He opens his mouth to decline. Kuroko is overwhelmed with the need to run far, far away. His heart is hammering and his stomach clenches with fear.

“Okay,” he says instead, perfectly even, stepping forward. One foot in front of the other until he stands on the threshold of Kiyoshi’s home.

He’s bigger than he remembers. Maybe it’s just the change in perspective. There’s a knife in his hand and Kuroko stares at it uneasily.

“Oh, this?” Kiyoshi twirls it between his fingers before tucking it in a pocket. “I was just cooking. Come in, come in!”

He presses a gentle hand that is nonetheless firm as it pushes him forward the next few steps until he can close the door behind him.

The lock clicks with chilling finality.

“Make yourself at home—those slippers should fit—” he gestures towards them, bustling forward like housewife pleased to have company, the knife incongruous in his back pocket. “I have all the cleaning supplies in the laundry room, but do sit and have some tea first, you look exhausted.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just get to work—”

“Please, I insist.” Kiyoshi turns his head back with a smile. Kuroko shivers and nods, toeing off his shoes and putting his feet into the slippers that fit like he’d picked them out himself. He follows after Kiyoshi’s broad back, unnerved by the faint and tuneless humming the other man is doing.

“How was work?”

“Fine,” Kuroko replies shortly. Then out of necessity of being polite, Kuroko asks, “How was your work?”

Kiyoshi laughs—he laughs with his whole body, throwing his head back with abandon. It would have been endearing if Kuroko wasn’t so viscerally terrified of the man. He’s still mostly certain he’s going to be killed at some point.

“Satisfactory,” he eventually says when he finishes laughing, pouring tea for them both.

Kuroko has no choice but to sit opposite him at the laughably small table before him. He shoves his phone into his bag, trying not to think about how he could easy it would be to send out a call for help to a friend.

No. It would be easy but he can’t. He can’t drag any of them into this mess with him.

Kuroko sips demurely at his tea. Jasmine. It slides silky-smooth down his throat.

“Now, I want things to be open between us. No secrets. So I wanted to let you know I’ve paid the first installment of your debt.” Kiyoshi sets down the knife on the table next to him and Kuroko eyes it like a snake. But Kiyoshi is still smiling and his brown eyes are as soft as Nigou’s. “It’ll be less suspicious that way.”

“Afraid of being found out?” Kuroko can’t help saying. He regrets it almost immediately as a cold flash of _something_ crosses Kiyoshi’s face.

“Me? The most I’d get is a slap on the wrist. But you, Kuroko.” He leans across the table, sets one giant hand over Kuroko’s where it’s curled around his mug. The contact is brief and very gentle, but Kuroko flinches like he’s been struck. “It would be a terrible shame, what would happen to you.”

Kiyoshi leans back, smiling like nothing has happened.

“I’ll keep paying in regular installments. While that goes on, you’ll keep my house for me.”

“For how long?” Kuroko croaks out. Kiyoshi is silent for a while, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. He hasn’t touched his tea which sets Kuroko even more on edge. He doesn’t seem like the type to just up and drug him, but then again—

“At least a year,” Kiyoshi finally decides and Kuroko’s shoulders slump.

A year. That was a long time. Doable though. He had done worse before, for much less reason.

“Okay,” he says to his reflection in the tea. It’s easier than looking Kiyoshi in the face, easier than trying to pretend he isn’t staring at his scars or the edges of the tattoo that curls up his neck.

Which is why he finds himself scrubbing down a stranger’s tub an hour later. He is too afraid to ask what happened to the last housekeeper, because there is a pink apron and gloves that Kiyoshi gives him that wouldn’t fit Kiyoshi.

He wears them, thinking of his grandma, thinking of Nigou. The two things he was still living for.

Three things. He has his friends.

Four. He has basketball.

Those thoughts are a familiar comfort that distracts him from the smell of the cleaning supplies and the citrus body wash Kiyoshi uses. Pink grapefruit. The cheerily colored bottle stares at him while he cleans, as if daring him to miss a spot.

“Kuroko,” Kiyoshi’s voice says from behind him. Kuroko doesn’t scream, but it’s a near thing. He whirls around, brush tightly held in hand, proud that he doesn’t shake.

Kiyoshi smiles, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You did,” Kuroko said bluntly. He files away the knowledge that Kiyoshi walks very lightly, for all his bulk. “What is it?”

“How spicy do you like your curry?”

“Medium,” he replies without thinking.

“Great.” Kiyoshi leaves without another word. Kuroko stares after him for several moments before slowly going back to his cleaning.

It only takes three hours to clean everything Kiyoshi asks in his tidy little house, but by the time he’s done his back is aching and his knees are sore. Kiyoshi insists that he stay for dinner and Kuroko can think of no way to refuse.

“Next time you can bring your dog,” he says. “I’m sure it’s no fun for him to be cooped up all day. I have a backyard he can play in.”

“Thank you,” Kuroko says stiffly. He doesn’t know how to react to this man. His _debt collector._ He doesn’t understand his motives, can’t read him at all other than to know that there was much more to him than his smiles and soft demeanor. If Kiyoshi notices how tense he is throughout the meal and the small-talk, he makes no sign of it.

He sends him home with leftovers.

Kuroko had resolved to hate him, but he’s making it hard to do so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nigou is thrilled to see him when he finally makes it home and Kuroko has to quickly hush him in case the landlord is listening.

He should be looking at bigger places. Places that were actually pet-friendly. But he knows even the cheapest of those are outside his budget. Even this place, run-down as it is, is nearly outside his budget.

He loves Nigou too much to give him up but wonders if maybe he’d be better off with a different owner.

He falls into bed almost immediately after his shower but he can’t sleep.

He’s still waiting for someone to come break down his door. Waiting for a gun to be pointed to his head, waiting for the demands to come. Waiting for the inevitability of his descent.

Kuroko isn’t able to swallow back his tears. His mouth still tastes like Kiyoshi’s curry and he swears the scent of bleach is still on his hands.

Was this it? Was this his life? Was this _everything_?

_ Better fucking not be. _

His phone buzzes with a text and he’s so grateful for the distraction that he carries on a conversation with Kise—of course it would be Kise at this hour—until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. He has an early shift at the store tomorrow. He needs more sleep than this.

He’s thankful to get any sleep at all, at this point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midorima texts him on the way to work, warning him about it being an unlucky day according to his horoscope. Kuroko wants to roll his eyes, but instead he thanks him for the warning, something tight in his chest.

As if he’d ever had anything but unlucky days for the past few years.

_ “But we can do something, can’t we?” _

_ “It’s late stage cancer, sir,” the doctor says gently. “We can do our best to make her comfortable, but at best she has a few months.” _

_ “But there are treatments, experimental treatments—” _

_ His grandma’s hands are warm as they rest over his. His eyes blur with tears. _

_ “But we can do something, right?” _

Kuroko shoves the memory away irritably, unlocking the store door and pulling his uniform apron from his bag and pulling it over his head. The store wouldn’t open for another half-hour, but there were a few things to get ready beforehand.

He loses himself in his work. He could always count on having work. Kise texts him a ‘good morning’ that he doesn’t reply to but appreciates all the same. So when his phone buzzes again, right before the official opening time, he isn’t expecting anything special.

Although special isn’t quite the right word.

It’s Kiyoshi.

** From: Debt Collector **

** Just wanted to let you know, Kuroko, I’ll be making weekly payments. Is that acceptable? **

As if he had a choice.

** To: Debt Collector **

** That’s fine. I’m at work. **

He barely can set the phone down before it buzzes again.

** From: Debt Collector **

** I know. You just opened. Work hard! **

Kuroko swallows hard. Ignores the bead of sweat that slides down his spine, making him shiver.

** To: Stalker Debt Collector **

** Please do not bother me while I’m at work. **

He switches his phone off before he can get a response and prays that customers will come soon. He resists the urge to look out the windows in case there’s a familiar figure standing out there, watching.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only food in his house is the leftover curry Kiyoshi sent him with.

He eats it, hating himself with every delicious bite.

He would have to return, next week. And endure the man’s smiles, endure his kindness.

The thought turns his stomach. Nigou whines softly and he strokes the top of his head. He’s growing, getting bigger. He is getting harder and harder to hide.

“What am I going to do, Nigou?” he asks of the dog, receiving only another whine in response. Kuroko sighs, tosses him one of the treats he carries around in his pockets. Watching him gobble it up happily, tail moving in quick sweeps cheers him up only marginally.

Kagami texts him an offer to come shoot hoops. Kuroko scoops Nigou into the gym bag he regularly sneaks him in and out of the apartment with and leaves, grateful for the invitation and ready to burn off some of his anxiety.

And if turns his head every few steps to look behind him, no one is there to notice.

“You look like shit,” is how Kagami greets him. “Do you ever sleep? Or eat?”

“Not everyone needs as much sleep as you.” Kuroko ignores his worried stare, taking a shot, _tsk_ ing in irritation when the ball bounces uselessly off the rim. He had met Kagami a few years ago at the gym. They didn’t get along the first few times they met, but eventually they became friends by force of commiseration—that and they were both friends with Aomine.

“Yeah, but you need _some._ I’m being serious right now, Kuroko, jeez.”

“One late night will not be the end of me.” He glances to the sidelines, checking that Nigou is still sitting there. He is, panting and watching with bright eyes. “Now are we here to play or are you going to insist on mothering me to death?”

Kagami’s face lightens with the challenge even as he scowls.

There’s no contest between them, one-on-one. They always work better as a team than as opponents. The exercise is still good, the feel of the basketball between his hands is still one of his favorite things.

“Something wrong?” Kagami asks. “You’ve been jumpy all night.”

Kuroko whips his head back around. He swears there has been a shadowy figure on his tail since they left the court, but every time he looks, there’s nothing there. _Keep it together._

“I thought I saw something,” he lies easily. “But it’s nothing.”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” Kagami shifts closer, bumping elbows with him companionably. “You know I’ve got your back no matter what.”

“Of course.”

When had it become so easy to lie? Kuroko doesn’t know and the thought makes him feel faintly ill. One lie led to another, led to another. Nigou sneezes at his feet. Kuroko shakes his head, reaching in his bag to pull out his camera.

“Pose for me,” he says, barely a question, pointing to a spot up ahead where the light was hitting just right. Kagami rolls his eyes but trots ahead, turning around to face him with a faint smile on his lips and his chin jutted forward, proud. He’s got a face the light loves, making him one of Kuroko’s favorite subjects to shoot.

He just snaps a few off. It’s already late and the light is fading anyway.

He bids Kagami goodbye at the corner, watching him leave before turning towards home, urging Nigou back into the duffel bag.

As he walks he catches himself wondering what it would be like to photograph Kiyoshi.

Like photographing his own approaching death.

He cringes from his own thoughts and hurries home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two days pass and he’s still not dead.

Kuroko hesitantly relaxes back into his routine, not trusting anything to go smoothly but resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. One of his photographs sells, which lets him pay off rent on time and even have some leftover to buy food that isn’t instant and likely terrible for him.

He splurges on a vanilla milkshake on the way home from work and a new chew toy for Nigou.

_ I have a backyard he can play in. _

And knives to skin the both of them with.

Not that Kuroko really thinks Kiyoshi would do _that._ But did he ever stop smiling?

He Googles Kiyoshi’s name when he gets home on his half-busted laptop from his university days, but finds nothing. No Facebook page, no presence on social media of any kind, not the smallest of whispers that might lead to some answers.

He’s less than a ghost.

Kuroko, suddenly cold, puts aside his milkshake and reaches for his blankets.

His phone buzzes ten minutes later and he grabs for it, hoping it’s one of his friends.

** From: Stalker Debt Collector **

** You’ve been looking me up. **

How could he possibly know that?

** From: Stalker Debt Collector **

** Please don’t. It alerts the corporation. **

The _corporation._ Kuroko feels sweat pool on his lower back. He remembers the oily, unctuous man who promised him that he would get all the money needed if only he would sign here, initial there. It had seemed worth it at the time.

Who was he fooling? Kuroko would do it just the same, every time, given the chance.

** To: Stalker Debt Collector **

** Fine. **

Kuroko throws the phone away from him. If only all his problems were as easy to get rid of.

He dreads the passing of time that brings him ever closer to seeing Kiyoshi Teppei again.

Nigou snuggles up against him. Kuroko rubs his ears, his thoughts running in circles as he tries, vainly, to think of a way _out._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the week is up, Kuroko is no closer to escape than he was before. He grudgingly resigns himself to the company of his shady debt collector for the foreseeable future. It’s not an easy fate to swallow, but he has little choice.

“What a handsome dog you are!” Kiyoshi exclaims over Nigou when Kuroko sets him loose from the duffel bag. Nigou, always excited to have attention from new people, wags his tail with violent force, jumping up on Kiyoshi’s legs. Kiyoshi just laughs.

_Traitor_ , Kuroko thinks sourly of his pet.

There is no mention of Kuroko searching the internet for clues about Kiyoshi during their brief small-talk before Kuroko gets to cleaning. He’s not sure how he feels about it—he’s not sure how he feels about any of it.

One thing is for certain. Kiyoshi is a slob.

Somehow, between the last time Kuroko was here and now, clothes have been left in just about every room, there are suspicious stains in the sink that reminded Kuroko unnervingly of blood, and all in all, the whole house is in disarray.

Kiyoshi smiles expectantly when Kuroko turns to him.

“I’ll get to work then,” he says blandly.

Laundry isn’t one of the things Kiyoshi requires of him, but he collects clothes in an unused hamper regardless and throws a load in the washer. He’s never been able to stand a mess; his grandma’s teachings, probably. Cleanliness is next to godliness.

He finds himself relaxing as he cleans, listening to the familiar sound of Nigou darting from one room to the next. Kiyoshi seems to be talking to him, but the words are indistinct, a soft rumble on the edge of his hearing.

In between scrubbing the bathroom and vacuuming the floors, Kuroko switches out the laundry. He spies Kiyoshi playing with Nigou in the backyard and his heart gives a strange lurch. There’s a bright, relaxed smile on his face unlike any of the other smiles he’s flashed at Kuroko and the sound of his laughter and Nigou’s excited barks make for a good combination.

More than Kiyoshi though, Kuroko rarely gets to see Nigou so happy and freely rambunctious. He resolves to bring him every week, his heart falling when he realizes how much better of a place Kiyoshi’s house is for him than Kuroko’s cramped apartment.

Kiyoshi protests when he finds Kuroko folding laundry an hour later.

“Really, it’s not necessary—”

 “If I don’t do it, will you?”

“Well,” he scratches at the back of his neck, still hovering over Kuroko. “I always seem to run out of time, but as long as they’re clean it doesn’t make much difference.”

“It does make a difference.”

“How’s that?”

“It just does.”

He stubbornly continues to fold the laundry as Kiyoshi slinks from the room, Nigou trotting happily at his heels.

Before long, Kuroko hears the sounds of chopping from the kitchen and some tuneless humming that can only be coming from Kiyoshi.

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” Kiyoshi calls out above the sound of the knife on the cutting board.

As if he would really give Kuroko much choice.

“Fine,” he calls back.

“It’s just curry again, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I don’t mind.” He swallows back the compliment he almost wants to say, that Kiyoshi is a good cook, just as he swallows back the retort that it was free food, who was he to complain? As he’s folding Kiyoshi’s shirts, he comes across one with a hole in it that looks remarkably like a bullet hole.

Feeling sick, he places that shirt at the bottom of the pile.

It only confirms his suspicions, that Kiyoshi is more than just a debt collector. Or at least, it confirms the kind of unsavory characters his “corporation” deals with. Kuroko must look like nothing more than small-fry compared to them. A Chihuahua compared to a lion.

He snorts in wry and bitter amusement as his own analogy, and carries the laundry down the hall to Kiyoshi’s room.

It’s the second time he’s been in there and it’s still unnerving. The whole room smells strongly of him. The rumpled bedsheets and comforter, plain white, suggests a night of restless sleep. A gun holster hangs over the back of a chair, and a set of brass knuckles is openly resting on top of his dresser.

Kuroko leaves the laundry basket at the foot of the bed and beats a hasty retreat to safer territory.

For as untrustworthy as he is, Kiyoshi is masterful at small-talk. It doesn’t set Kuroko any more at ease than the first time he was there, but it makes the time pass faster.

Kiyoshi sends him home with leftovers again, promising to make something else next time.

Kuroko hopes this isn’t becoming a pattern. He doesn’t need to be any more indebted to Kiyoshi than he already is.

 “I’ll bring Nigou along again, if that’s acceptable.”

“The little guy is more than welcome! He’s a good dog, aren’t you, boy?” Kiyoshi reaches out to scratch at his ears before Kuroko urges him into the duffel. “Get home safely, you two. Text me when you’re back.”

 “Why?” Kuroko can’t help asking. Kiyoshi blinks in surprise.

 “It’s what friends do, isn’t it?” His smile is almost shy. “You never know what kind of unsavory characters are lurking about. I’d feel better for it.”

Kuroko doesn’t mention that Kiyoshi himself is one of those unsavory characters.

He can feel Kiyoshi’s gaze on him as he walks away. Friends. He is glad he didn’t laugh in Kiyoshi’s face at hearing that word. This is a business contract, nothing more. The sooner his year is up, the better.

 

 

**To: Stalker Debt Collector**

**We’re home.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s been too long,” Momoi accuses, punching his shoulder lightly. Kuroko can’t help but to smile, half of his attention on the escalating argument between Aomine and Kagami over who had really won their latest match.

“It has. I’m sorry for that. I’ve been working extra hours.”

“You’re always working extra hours.” She sighs, crossing her legs as she leans back on the bench, eyes going to the other two. “And what about your photography? I know one of yours sold, so have you done anything new?”

“I’ve been invited to show at a studio downtown. A small one,” he adds when her entire face beams with excitement. “But it’ll be good exposure.”

If he’s being honest, he’s unbearably excited about it too.

“Then things are looking up!” She reaches for his hands, squeezing tight. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.”

Kuroko doesn’t know about that, but it’s one of the few good things that has happened to him lately.

“Kise would pose for you, if you asked. You know he would.”

“I know.”

 But then he would be forgotten—the photo would be Kise’s, not his. It isn’t what he wants. As if sensing his thoughts, Momoi sighs, pats his hands before letting go. Kuroko smiles for her, almost apologetic.

They are distracted from their conversation by Aomine declaring that he is taking them all out on the town for dinner and drinks. Momoi protests, trying to convince him that _it’s a work night, Dai-chan, we couldn’t possibly_ , but they all end up going out anyway.

Kagami pays for Kuroko’s share in what he probably thinks is a subtle move.

Kuroko is torn between appreciation and shame, but Kagami means well so he keeps his mouth shut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The week goes by quickly. He visits his grandma in hospice, where she is doing, against all odds, quite well. He tries not to take too much hope in how energetic she seems, how animated she is when she talks about her recent win at cards against the other patients on her floor.

And soon enough he is on Kiyoshi’s doorstep once more, shifting from foot to foot as he waits for him to answer the door.

“Kuroko,” he offers up a smile that only widens when Nigou leaps at him with a woof of greeting. He seems about to say more but cracks a jaw-creaking yawn instead, waving him inside with a lazy hand. He’s dressed in what must be his pajamas, a worn looking shirt and loose-fitting sweats.

“Late night?” Kuroko asks, regretting his words almost immediately. But Kiyoshi nods, blinking blearily at him.

“Something like that. Sorry about the mess,” he adds.

“The mess is my job.”

“Yeah, but still.” He shrugs and pads into the kitchen. “Tea?”

Kuroko accepts, knowing better than to try to turn down his warm efforts at hospitality by now. His movements are stiff, like he’s in pain, as he shuffles between the stove and the cupboards.

“Are you hurt?” Kuroko can’t help blurting out. Kiyoshi’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed thoughtfully at him. The expression melts into something softer when he sees Kuroko flinch back in his chair.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re awfully observant, aren’t you, Kuroko.”

It’s not a question so Kuroko doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t mention that being observant is what kept him safe all through school, all through his life when he is always the boy who is too small, too weak, too different.

“Anyway, this is nothing. Don’t worry about me,” Kiyoshi continues.

“I wasn’t. Worried.” Kuroko looks down at his tea because it’s easier, not caring if it’s weak of him to look away first. “I wasn’t.”

“Good. You have enough worries of your own without burdening yourself with mine.”

His voice is, as always, too kind. Too sincere. Kuroko can’t help think that if their circumstances were different they might get along well with each other.

Kiyoshi inquires after his grandmother, laughing at Kuroko’s retelling of her victory over the other patients at cards. It feels good to talk about her; his friends all avoid the topic, thinking he is too fragile still to bear speaking about her.

And he is fragile, he won’t lie to himself about that. But it still feels good. She’s still here and he doesn’t want to forget that.

Soon enough the tea is gone and Kuroko gets to work.

It’s all familiar, by now, even if he can’t fully relax. Mind-numbingly familiar. It’s finished faster than the previous times, before Kiyoshi can even ask him to stay for dinner. The house is, in fact, suspiciously quiet. Moving gingerly from room to room, Kuroko searches for Kiyoshi to tell him he’s done.

He’s asleep at the kitchen table. His wide shoulders are slumped over in a position that looks cramped and uncomfortable to cradle his head, he’s snoring very softly. Nigou sleeps at his feet, though he wags his tail when Kuroko stops in the doorway.

“Kiyoshi,” Kuroko says. He does not stir.

“Kiyoshi,” he tries, louder.

Nothing.

Grimacing to himself, Kuroko rounds the table until he’s at Kiyoshi’s side, and reaches out a tentative. He does nothing but barely brush Kiyoshi’s arm with his fingertips, and Kiyoshi moves.

He’s quick.

Kiyoshi has his wrist in a crushing grip before Kuroko can even think to withdraw his hand. But it’s his expression that frightens Kuroko—cold and hard and strangely afraid. His wrist hurts but Kuroko doesn’t dare move. He hardly dares to breathe.

Recognition finally flashes over Kiyoshi’s face and his eyes soften. He doesn’t let go but his grip relaxes.

“Kuroko?” he says, as if he has to make sure.

“Kiyoshi.” Kuroko swallows, wishing his knees weren’t so weak. “Please let go.”

He doesn’t, not at first. “I’m sorry. Next time, just shout.”

“Next time, don’t overwork yourself,” Kuroko counters.

Kiyoshi smiles, just a little. “Yes, sir.” He lets go, his long fingers a subtle caress on his skin. “I’m sorry,” he repeats as they both see the bruises rising to the surface already. “I don’t know my own strength.”

Kuroko doubts that. He simply had had no control over his strength in that vulnerable moment.

“It’s fine.”

Kiyoshi shakes his head. “It’s not fine. It won’t happen again.” Even though it’s a weak promise to make, Kuroko believes him. He believes in the fear he had seen his eyes, and the concern that followed.

Kiyoshi seems to be waiting for a response, so Kuroko nods. Nigou thumps his tail on the ground, a steady beat.

“Will you stay for dinner?”

“You’re in no shape to be cooking.”

“With your help I could manage.”

“So you are hurt.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes widen fractionally before returning to normal. He smiles again, warm but something predatory lurking at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not up for discussion.”

“Yet my life is?”

Kiyoshi shrugs. “The less you know about me, the safer you’ll be, Kuroko.”

“That’s not how friends work,” he says flatly, well aware that his attempt at manipulation is obvious. For a moment, Kiyoshi only stares at him, smile faded to a thin line. Then Nigou jumps up on his lap, distracting him. Kiyoshi pets him obligingly, looking away from Kuroko.

“Yes,” he finally says, “I’m hurt. It’s not uncommon in my line of work.”

Kuroko nods, accepting this. He doesn’t dare pry for more even though he’s dying to ask more questions. _Are you really just a debt collector? Who do you work for?_

_Am I really safe with you?_

“I’ll help with dinner,” Kuroko says instead.

They chop vegetables in companionable silence. Kiyoshi’s movements with the knife are slower than usual but just was sure; the knife looks at home in his large hands. Kuroko quickly pulls his eyes away when Kiyoshi meets his gaze, staring down at his growing pile of onions.

“Go sit down. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Now, Kuroko—”

“You don’t have to pretend in front of me.” Kuroko continues staring at the onions even though his eyes are watering. “I have no one to tell. Besides,” he dares a glance upwards and finds Kiyoshi’s brown eyes boring into him, curious, “I owe you for all the leftovers.”

Kiyoshi relents and returns to his chair with a sigh. Kuroko cooks mostly on autopilot, the motions all familiar even if the kitchen isn’t. He’s feeling calmer and more capable by the time he’s plating the stir-fry, brave enough to dare another question.

“How did you get hurt?”

At Kiyoshi’s size, it was hard to imagine anyone _could_ hurt him.

“I told you, it’s an occupational hazard.”

Kuroko fidgets in his chair, thinking of the bullet hole in Kiyoshi’s shirt and thinking about all his visible scars. Thinking of the scars that must lay hidden beneath his clothes.

“I was unlucky, that’s all. Some people got the jump on me.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Often enough,” Kiyoshi replies neutrally, taking an overlarge bite of food and humming in appreciation. “You’re better at this than I am,” he accuses after he’s done chewing. Kuroko offers up a faint smile.

“Just because I can make something other than curry doesn’t make me better.”

Kiyoshi blinks in surprise, then bursts out laughing. The laugh quickly dies as he winces, but it’s a bright and warming sound that puts Kuroko more at ease, despite everything. Kuroko leaves—again with leftovers—in a good mood, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 His good mood does not last.

He barely makes rent for the month, leaving him with almost nothing. Certainly not enough to feed either him or Nigou for a while. He apologizes to his dog, knowing he can’t possibly understand, and sets to cleaning his apartment to take his mind off things.

Cleaning his own apartment doesn’t take nearly as long as it takes to clean Kiyoshi’s house.

He goes through the cupboards when he’s done, mindlessly looking for something to keep him occupied, and finds the set of dishes he never touches. White porcelain, with a delicate silver filigree around the edges, tiny flowers.

Kuroko stares at the fine porcelain in his hands. His mother’s. She is less than a memory to him. Maybe that’s where everything started—the day she handed him over to his grandma and disappeared. Nothing has gone right ever since.

As if in a trance, he lets go.

It shatters beautifully. The sound is a discordant music. He’s reaching for another plate when he hears Nigou’s nails clack on the floor and a worried bark.

“Stay back,” he warns, waking from his trance. His hands shake minutely. “Nigou, sit. Stay.”

The dog sits obediently with a whine, just outside the range of dangerous slivers of porcelain. Kuroko lets out a small laugh, whispers to him that he’s a good boy. He wonders where on earth he put his broom last, because it’s nowhere to be seen. He crouches and reaches for the biggest pieces. He’s an idiot. Breaking plates when he could sell them.

The doorbell rings. He jerks, slicing his thumb open. With a hiss, he sticks it in his mouth and edges around the mess, heading for the door.

“Stay,” he repeats to Nigou.

When he peers through the peephole, it’s not, as he had feared, his landlord. Aomine’s disgruntled face, far too close, is peering right back at him.

“Oy, Tetsu. Open up already.”

He smiles, then the expression falls. The plate. His thumb. He doesn’t know why he has the deep-set urge to hide both, but there isn’t time to do so anyway, so he just unlocks the door and lets his friend inside.

“This is a surprise.”

“It’s Thursday, stupid. I’m taking you out for dinner.”

_Ah._ He had lost track of the days.

Aomine’s eyes fall to his still bleeding thumb, but then Nigou is wriggling his way between them, letting out soft excited yips. Aomine kicks the door shut behind him and crouches down to scratch behind Nigou’s ears.

“You clean that out yet?”

“Not yet.”

He grunts, straightening up and stalks into the kitchen before Kuroko can think to stop him.

“What happened here? It’s not like you to be clumsy.”

“No,” Kuroko simply says. “It’s not.”

Aomine looks at him and Kuroko has to wonder what he sees. He reaches out, punches Kuroko’s shoulder a little too hard to be friendly.

“I gotta wonder, what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Nothing that interesting.”

That makes Aomine laugh. “Come _on_ , man. We both know that’s not true.” He moves around the broken porcelain with light-footed grace, rummaging under the sink until he retrieves the compact first aid kit Kuroko keeps there. “C’mere, let’s get you fixed up.”

Kuroko follows him to the bathroom without argument, grateful in the moment to have someone else sane there to take care of him.

“Those are your mom’s, right? Never seen you use them before.”

“I’m going to sell them.”

Aomine hums low. “Would’ve gotten more for the full set, y’know.”

“I know.”

Kuroko watches him swab antiseptic cream on the gash, and then carefully bandage it up. It reminds Kuroko a little of Midorima and how he used to tape his fingers. It makes him smile, a little, and Aomine smiles—a little—back. Neither of them are really used to the expression anymore.

“All set.” Aomine stands, taking up nearly the whole bathroom. “I’m starving, let’s go.”

They go to a family restaurant around the corner, the same one they frequent every Thursday night like clockwork.

He follows Aomine’s lead and they only talk about safe things. Their mutual friends. Basketball. Work. They don’t talk about the shadows under Kuroko’s eyes or the broken plate, and there’s no mention of how Aomine still seems exhausted despite sleeping over nine hours—Momoi always reported to him—a night. Kuroko doesn’t fight it when Aomine pays for him. He just doesn’t have it in him.

“I’ll get you next time,” Kuroko lies instead.

Aomine shakes his head.

“I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. If I can’t spend it on my best friend, then who?”

“Momoi.”

“Momoi,” he snorts, eyes softening all the same. “She insists on paying her own way. Says she wants to be independent, whatever that means.”

“She always has been. I thought you liked that about her.”

“Yeah. I do.” Aomine scratches at his head as they come to a stop outside Kuroko’s apartment. “Anyway, thanks for the company. Same time, next week.”

“We could hang out more,” Kuroko blurts out. “I mean, we should. I could come over.”

“You’re busy with work.”

“I’m not too busy for my best friend.”

Aomine smiles, a fleeting expression, and bumps his shoulder into Kuroko in an awkward expression of affection. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” His eyes drift to Kuroko’s injured hand and his tired frown returns. “Take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try if you will.”

Aomine nods and offers his fist. They bump knuckles. “It’s a promise.”

After Aomine leaves, Kuroko puts up a listing for the full dinner set, minus one plate.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

 The night of gallery comes sooner than Kuroko expects.

He’s known from the beginning which photographs to show, but he still finds himself agonizing over the three pieces on his way there to set up. It takes an hour to get to the venue, during which he finds himself getting more and more worked up, the nerves twisting in his belly. It’s been a long time since he’s been invited to show anywhere and he doesn’t want to disappoint—not himself and not the gallery goers.

But he calms once he’s in the space, surrounding by the art of the evening. It’s clear from looking at the other photographs that his own will stand out with a clear point of view.

Soon enough the gallery opens and people begin trickling in. He mingles as best he can, idly chatting with a few people when they drift by his setup. He has to work to have a stronger presence than usual, and it’s tiring in its own way.

“Kuroko!”

He knows that voice.

Kuroko thinks,  _he can’t possibly be here_ even as he spins frantically to verify that he  _is._

“Kiyoshi.”

Kiyoshi’s smile dims fractionally and he steps closer, bending his head down so they’re speaking as privately as possible, given the venue. How did he know he would be showing tonight? How had he found this place?

How had he known  _anything?_

He’s too close.

“Should I not be here?” he asks lowly. “I just wanted to show my support, but if you want me gone, I’m gone.”

Kuroko can hear his friends call his name. Inconvenient timing for him, as usual. He doesn’t know how to explain Kiyoshi to them without revealing where he had come by the money to help his grandma. And he can’t do that.

He should tell him to leave. He’s even offered to leave, so it’s not rude. Kuroko’s hands clench into convulsive fists at his sides.

“Thank you,” he says, “for your support.”

Kiyoshi relaxes and his smile goes weirdly soft. By that time Momoi appears with Aomine and Kagami in tow, throwing her arm around Kuroko’s waist just as Kiyoshi neatly steps back.

“Kuroko, this place is  _amazing!_ ” She pretends to just notice Kiyoshi and offers up a polite smile. “Who’s your friend?”

Before Kuroko can think of an appropriate lie, Kiyoshi is bowing towards her, equally polite. “I’m Kiyoshi Teppei. Pleased to meet you…”

“Momoi.” Her eyes flick between them. “Strange, but Kuroko’s never mentioned you before.”

“We’ve only recently become acquainted,” Kuroko says hastily.

Aomine folds his arms, frowning, a pose that Kagami copies almost immediately. The three of them make for an intimidating spectacle, all in a row facing Kiyoshi. But then, they have never seen Kiyoshi wearing a gun, never seen him handle a knife, never heard the way he speaks threats easy as breathing. It’s like watching three sparrows facing down a peregrine falcon.

Sparrows is not perhaps the most flattering comparison. But Kuroko desperately doesn’t want them to get hurt, to get in trouble. Not that he really thinks Kiyoshi will hurt them, but he’s never seen what the man does when he takes offense to something, and Kagami and Aomine are sure to say something rude.

“It’s not Kuroko to invite a mere  _acquaintance_  to a show,” Aomine ground out, addressing Kiyoshi instead of acknowledging Kuroko.  _Idiot._  Kagami nodded in agreement.

“Guys, seriously,” he starts to say, but Kiyoshi is still smiling and speaks over him.

“Mere? I wouldn’t say that, would you, Kuroko?”

_Don’t drag me into this_ , he wants to beg. He doubts Kiyoshi has been  _merely_  anything in his entire life.

“We’re friends,” he manages to say. It’s easy enough to tack on the small lie of, “I invited him.”

The others squint suspiciously at him until Momoi shrugs it off. “Well, any friend of Kuroko is a friend our ours. Pleased to meet you.”

Kuroko lets out a relieved breath. Aomine and Kagami grudgingly introduce themselves before the trio wanders off in search of the refreshments, promising to come back after they had made the rounds and seen all his photographs. There were only three of his, but they are all pieces Kuroko is proud of.

“So,” Kiyoshi says, “you have interesting friends.”

_You don’t know the half of it._ Perhaps some of that thought shows on his face because Kiyoshi laughs a little, shaking his head. Kiyoshi touches his elbow, very lightly. “Show me which ones are yours. I’d very much like to see them.”

Having no excuse not to, Kuroko leads the way to his photographs on his display.

Kiyoshi stands back, hands clasped loosely behind his back and head tilted thoughtfully.

“As I thought, you have a unique perspective. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Because you’re such an expert on photography,” Kuroko says dryly, even though he appreciates the compliment.

“One needn’t be an expert on art in order to recognize greatness. There’s something innate in the works that speak for them.” He gestures to the photographs and Kuroko is captivated by the movement—broad yet somehow delicate, and he expressed himself to the very tips of his fingers. “And your works don’t just speak. They dance.”

Kuroko swallows hard, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide his nerves. Kiyoshi doesn’t seem to notice anyway, too busy gazing at his work.

“What was your inspiration for these?”

“Shadows.”

Kiyoshi nods, as if he can see it. Maybe he can. He steps back, out of the way of a few people also stopping to admire Kuroko’s photographs.

Kiyoshi tenses slightly, reaching into his pocket to withdraw his phone. He reads a message on it with his mouth pressed in a tight line. His eyes flick down to Kuroko and he nearly reels back from the intensity there.

“I should go.” His full lips quirk upward at the corners. “Thank you, for the invitation.”

Kuroko can’t think of a response before Kiyoshi is striding away, cutting an easy line between the other people there. He stands head and shoulders above most and he moves like a cat on the prowl, standing out from the crowd despite the plain clothes he wears.

Kuroko watches his back until he disappears from view.

He’s in a daze the rest of the night, responding to his friends only when directly questioned, and going through the motions of speaking to the gallery patrons.

He doesn’t manage to sell any of his photographs, but gets the contact information for someone interested in hiring him for a job, so it’s something.

 The journey back to his apartment goes quickly, and he’s greeting an eager Nigou before he knows it.

“It went well, boy,” he tells him, scratching behind Nigou’s ears. “Really well. Even if Kiyoshi did show up uninvited. Can you believe that?”

Nigou woofs softly, tail wagging. Kuroko sighs, setting his bag aside. “Let’s get you outside. It’s been a long evening for you, huh?”

Nigou seems to bob his head in agreement, making Kuroko smile.

He stops suddenly on the way to the door, feeling a flash of unease.

He looks around carefully, wondering what it was that set off the feeling and that’s when he sees it.

Flowers.

Flowers, on his counter.

Someone had gotten into his apartment and left him flowers on the counter.

Momoi has the key to his apartment, he reasons with himself as he cautiously approaches them as he would a cornered animal. But he knows she would have just brought them to the gallery.

There’s a note with them that Kuroko lifts with shaking hands.

**Sorry I had to leave early. Good work tonight, Kuroko.**

The handwriting is unfamiliar but Kuroko doesn’t need to see the signature to know who it’s from.

_Kiyoshi._

Kiyoshi had broken into his apartment to leave him  _flowers._  Kuroko would be flattered if he weren’t so unnerved by the gesture. What is it that the other man wants from him? Maybe it’s as simple as Kiyoshi truly viewing him as a friend, but Kuroko can’t help thinking that there’s something more to it.

Tempted as he is to throw the flowers away, he sets them in a vase before taking Nigou outside. They’re pretty after all. It’d be a shame to waste them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Both of them are quiet the next time Kuroko goes over to clean. Kiyoshi still moves as if he’s in pain, but Kuroko doesn’t push for answers.

Neither of them mention the night of the gallery.

Nor the flowers.

“How did you get Nigou?” Kiyoshi asks over their dinner. Hot pot, this time. Kuroko takes his time to chew thoroughly before answering.

“I found him. Someone left him on the street.”

“Seriously?” Kiyoshi is taken aback, leaning down to stroke Nigou’s belly even though they’re eating dinner. Kuroko should lecture him on that but doesn’t have the heart to. He does the same thing, anyway.  “A cute little guy like him? I can’t imagine anyone abandoning him.”

Neither had Kuroko. He still remembers going around town, posting up fliers for whoever had lost their dog, until it became clear they intended Nigou to stay lost.

“But why take him in? You could just as easily taken him to a shelter.”

“I…” He couldn’t stand the thought of something so innocent being abandoned like he had been, was the truth. “I took a liking to him, that’s all.”

 Kiyoshi looks at him as though he can see right through his words. His smile is something quiet and intimate. Kuroko looks away, down at his plate. Nothing in this world could have prepared him for someone like Kiyoshi. He throws him off-balance every time without even trying.

“I didn’t want him to be alone,” Kuroko admits.

“It was a kind thing to do.”

It was a selfish thing to do, more like. Kuroko didn’t want to be alone either. But he just nods awkwardly and goes back to eating, determined to finish quickly and  _leave._  Even if the sight of Nigou sprawled across Kiyoshi’s feet is one that sets him at ease.

He feels guilty as he ushers Nigou into the duffel bag, even more guilty as his landlord stops him to talk to him about the suspicious noises coming from his apartment, reminding him sharply that this was a strictly no-pets-allowed apartment complex. Kuroko agrees, lying about having been watching the wildlife channel too loudly even though he doesn’t even own a television.

Nigou is still and quiet in the bag the whole time, thankfully. Kuroko doesn’t deserve him.

That night, all Kuroko thinks about are the flowers—still alive—on his counter. He thinks about Kiyoshi and his goofy expressions of joy, the scars on his hands.

He doesn’t deserve him, either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroko doesn’t usually dream.

At least, he doesn’t remember his dreams.

How he wishes he could forget this one, banish it back to whatever dreadful part of his brain it had come from.

_Kissing him is nothing like he imagined. His lips are soft beneath his, moving soft, soft, following Kuroko’s hesitant lead._

_“Please,” he murmurs against Kuroko’s skin._

_“Please what?”_

_“Please.”_

_And they kiss again, deeper this time, warmer. Kuroko feels the muscles of his arms bunching as he presses close, close, closer._

Kuroko fumbles through his workday, internally cringing every time thoughts of the dream passes through his mind again. Tomorrow he has to return to Kiyoshi’s and face another day of his company. Last time it was unbearably uncomfortable—not that Kiyoshi had seemed to notice or even care, full of smiles and good cheer as usual, getting around smoothly again, injuries presumably healed.

_Kissing him is like filling his veins with sunlight. Soon enough lips give way to tongue, to teeth, to laughter._

_“Kiyoshi,” Kuroko gasps when the man presses a trail a kisses down his neck. “Please.”_

_“Please what?”_

Kuroko wants to scream but instead calmly counts the money in the register as he prepares to close out for the day. The routine is too familiar to be distracting.

Kuroko nearly does scream when he steps outside.

“Hey, stranger.” Kise grins, tipping the edge of his hat towards him.

“What are you doing here?” Kuroko asks, more curt than he truly meant. Kise wilts a little, but predictably bounces back immediately.

“I had a shoot nearby and thought I’d drop by to say hello!”

“Well, you’ve said it.” Kuroko still spares him a smile. It comes out strained and tired, but that’s the best he can do. “How was the shoot?”

Kise walks him home, chattering on and on. It’s just the distraction Kuroko needs and honestly, it’s good to see him. With Kise’s booked schedule, it’s rare that he gets the chance to visit anybody and it feels good that he chose Kuroko, out of all their friends.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the gallery the other night,” Kise says as they approach his door.

“It’s fine. I’m sure Momoi made it sound like a bigger deal than it—”

“It was a big deal! And I wanted to be there, really I did.”

Kuroko smiles again, less strained this time, messing with keys. “I appreciate that, Kise.”

“Next time, for sure!”

Assuming there is a next time. Kuroko hopes there will be, especially since he has a new job booked.

“Next time,” he agrees.

Midorima texts—the extent of their socialization, outside meetings of the whole old group—to tell him congratulations about the successful showing, and not long after Akashi texts as well; his is much more long-winded, updating Kuroko on his life in succinct words. Kuroko knows that he’s not showing off when he talks about the family business—indeed, they all know the level of stress that it causes for him—but it still stings a little. Akashi has, to put it plainly, his shit together.

Kuroko does not.

Has not.

Never has.

He shakes his head, tossing the negativity aside. He doesn’t envy Akashi, not really. He just longs for the day when he  _does_  have his shit together. Surely it will happen. One day soon.

As soon as he’s free of this debt collector.

Kuroko cringes as memories of the dream immediately come spilling in, and calls his grandma to distract himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Have I done something to offend you?”

Kuroko looks at Kiyoshi blankly.

“Why are you asking?”

“Well, you just seem a bit off. I wondered if I did something to upset you.”

_The damn flowers, for starters._   _Inviting yourself into my dreams, for another._

Kuroko looks away from him, scrubbing the tub with greater force.

“I’m just tired.”

“Not sleeping well?” Kiyoshi says, sympathetic.

Kuroko does not want his sympathy. Nigou barks from the other room and Kiyoshi’s attention is drawn away but he still does not leave. Waiting for an answer, no doubt.

“Yes,” Kuroko replies curtly.  _And it’s all your fault._

The touch on his head is light, gentle. Kiyoshi ruffles his hair, just a little, and then he’s gone before Kuroko can do or say anything to protest.

The memory of the casual touch stays for a long time, a strange tingle in his skin.

When he’s done, he goes searching for Kiyoshi and finds him sprawled on the couch with Nigou laying in his lap. The image is so domestic that Kuroko can’t help but to smile as he takes off his borrowed apron.

“Done already?” Kiyoshi’s eyes are half-closed but he smiles sleepily at him. “You’re efficient.”

Kuroko shrugs, having nothing to say, and goes to put the apron away. Kiyoshi looks more alert when he returns, fingers buried in Nigou’s thick ruff of fur.

“I think your dog likes me more than you do.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

Kiyoshi laughs. “He likes you more, don’t worry. Isn’t that right, boy? Don’t you love your dad?” Nigou flops over onto his side and Kiyoshi obligingly pets his belly. Hesitantly, Kuroko sits beside him on the couch, reaching over to pet Nigou too. Their hands bump together occasionally but Kuroko chooses to ignore the small touches.

He has an entire year to get through with Kiyoshi. If this is the worst he has to put up with, he’ll make it through just fine.

“I like having your company. You and Nigou,” Kiyoshi says, soft.

Kuroko doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. His skin flushes red though, unbidden. He doesn’t know what to do with all the attention Kiyoshi pays him. He’s used to being ignored, passed over. Forgotten.

“Please don’t break into my house again.”

Kuroko doesn’t know why he says it. It just spills out of him. Kiyoshi looks over, surprised, brows raised.

“I wondered if you got the flowers.”

How could he have missed them? “I got them, yes.”

“You should install better locks,” Kiyoshi says.

“Kiyoshi—”

“I won’t do it again, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.”

They are both quiet for a few moments.

“Did you like them?”

“What?”

“The flowers,” Kiyoshi says. “Did you like them?”

The bouquet is bright and cheerful, but simply put together. It reminds Kuroko of Kiyoshi every time he looks at them. Of the good things about him, anyway. It’s hard to reconcile the image of a man who buys flowers for him with the one who displays brass knuckles and other weapons so freely. The one who has scars and tattoos with the one who talks in a baby voice to his dog.

“Yes,” Kuroko admits.

Kiyoshi smiles widely. “Good!” He gently urges Nigou off his lap and onto Kuroko’s. “How about takeout tonight?”

“I think I’ll just go—”

“Nonsense, it’s my treat.” Kiyoshi is already pulling out his phone and dialing. Kuroko subsides, settling back against the couch with an armful of dog. There’s little point in arguing with him. About any of it, really. Kuroko has the feeling that the longer he stays with Kiyoshi, the more indebted he will feel. Bad enough that they have this deal where Kiyoshi pays off his loan, and now he insists on feeding him and buying him gifts.

Maybe he really does think they are friends.

But friends don’t break into each other’s houses. Surely they don’t. Friends don’t have strange, erotic dreams about each other.

So Kuroko isn’t prepared to think of Kiyoshi as a friend, despite his lie to his real friends. But maybe he’s prepared to stop thinking of him as the enemy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “So, Kiyoshi Teppei, huh,” Momoi says, her voice tinny and full of static from the wind through their phone connection.

“That’s his name, yes,” Kuroko replies, biting back his irritation and his fear.

“How come none of us have ever heard of him before now?”

“Like I said—”

“—you’ve only recently become acquainted. Then why invite him at all?”

“I’m allowed to make new friends, Momoi.”

He closes his eyes, leaning back against the counter. He can distantly hear Nigou’s snores from his bedroom. How he wishes he was asleep too, and had ignored the phone call from Momoi. It’s late and he should have been asleep anyway. She wouldn’t have held it against him.

 She sighs and steps into a place with less wind, because her voice comes through clearer with her next words. “I’m not saying you’re not allowed to make new friends.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s out of character and I’m worried about you. Kiyoshi seems…different.”

She has no idea.

“Momoi, I appreciate the concern—”

“Kuroko—”

“—but it’s my life. I can decide who’s trustworthy for myself.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says in a small voice, and Kuroko feels immediately guilty.

“I won’t,” he promises, even though he’s certain it’s at least half a lie.

“I love you, you know that? We all love you. Even if the idiots don’t show it that well.”

“I know,” Kuroko says, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

“All right. Take care, Kuroko.”

He keeps the phone at his ear long after she has hung up, listening to the silence.

Kuroko should feel better for having talked to her, but instead all he can think of is Kiyoshi. His debt. The dream.

“I will survive this,” he says to the empty apartment.

He will. No matter what else happens.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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